


Tarot Card

by wallofwindows



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:00:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallofwindows/pseuds/wallofwindows
Summary: Dan becoming himself as told by Dying in LA





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Behold! My first chaptered fic. Updates every other day.

You looked at death in a tarot card and you saw what you had to do.

He felt trapped. He didn’t know when the feeling started, or exactly how. But it overwhelmed him. He’d grown up living for everyone else and for once, oh for once, he wanted to be able to live for himself. He had to. But he couldn’t. 

Everyone just pushed him around, everyone wanted him to be something he couldn’t be. He was but a warped mirror image of that, a disappointment to all. They wanted him to be absolutely perfect. To just be happy. To be straight. And he was none of those things. He was starting to collapse under the pressure of those expectations. He was bound to break by being bound to the lies he tried to live. He was a ghost of the boy people wanted him to be, and in that a ghost of himself. A ghost that was fading away faster than he could comprehend. He was trapped in a haunted house, walking down a hallway toward the demise of the human he wanted to be. And they all just cheered him on. He wanted to run in the other direction, he wanted to escape. But how could he?


	2. Slip

_Nights at the chateau, trapped in your sunset bungalow. You couldn’t escape it._

One day. One day he’d be free. He kept clinging to this idea, trying to hold on to that thread. But when?

Today?

Tomorrow?

Unlikely.

How much longer until the thread broke and he broke. He’d gotten clumsy. He’d nearly slipped a few times. Almost gave into what everyone wanted. Almost. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t. He had to be himself, he had to be true.

He looked at death in a tarot card and he saw what he had to do.


	3. Posion

_Drink of paradise, they told you put your blood on ice._

He was being poisoned by everyone’s opinion. He wanted so much to not care but he still did anyways. And he was afraid. Afraid of their opinions bleeding into his own, afraid of them freezing his heart and chilling him to the bone. He just wanted to be himself but they were tainting his understanding of who he actually was. They were forcing him into living his lie. He couldn’t take it much longer. So he held on and hoped that one day would be someday soon.

He felt trapped, and he needed to escape it.

Nights in his chateau, trapped in his sunset bungalow. He couldn’t escape it.


	4. Hid

_Nobody knows you now._

He couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t think he should have to hide the boy he loved, he shouldn’t have to be ashamed. He didn’t want to keep lying, talking to his parents about setting him up with whatever neighbor girl they had thought to be ideal. He loved a boy and he wasn’t ashamed.  
He shouldn’t have to be.

So he told them. And they were.

And he’d love to say he didn’t care, but he did. It stung. It stung when they said that it seemed like they didn’t him anymore. It stung when they asked who or what poisoned his brain. It stung when they claimed they knew him better than he knew himself. It really did. But it didn’t sting enough to make him slither back into the mould they wanted to shape him with.

So maybe they didn’t know him. And maybe they didn’t have to. He put his blood on the ice and he wasn’t going to clean that mess up.

He felt free. For once.

Drink of paradise, they told you put your blood on ice.


	5. Knew

_When you’re dying in LA._

This was his character arc, his reinvention. It was the scene in the movie where he realized his mistakes and learn from them, and where he found out if people were loyal or not. The version of himself that he’d painted for other to view was fading away, dying off. Without the weight of that lead paint, he felt a lot more free.

So what if people didn’t like it. Who cared if people didn’t like it. He liked it. He liked being unfamiliar, and he liked being authentic. He didn’t need others to “know” him, because he finally knew himself.

Nobody knows you know.


End file.
